


Unhealed Wounds

by demiclar



Series: Destcember 2020 [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drifter and his card games, Drifter being soft, Hurt/Comfort, Light not being totally effective, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiclar/pseuds/demiclar
Summary: Drifter does what he can for Casimir's unhealed wounds.
Relationships: The Drifter/Male Guardian (Destiny)
Series: Destcember 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037118
Kudos: 8





	Unhealed Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> I know we all love Drifter being soft. Hope you enjoy!

Casimir sat still as Drifter kissed his way up his bare back, blue flesh risen in goose bumps in the cold of the rogue’s ship. He was seated on the man’s lap, a drink in his hands, looking down at the abandoned card game spread out on the table before them. Drifter had been playing when Casimir had arrived. An old game, designed to be played alone. He hadn’t been expecting Casimir back that night, but neither had Casimir himself. He’d made his way to Drifter’s ship after a long day in the Dreaming City, his old, unhealed wounds sore and aching.

He hadn’t wanted to play cards. He’d dropped into the chair across from Drifter when he’d arrived, unceremoniously drawing off his helmet and dumping it on the floor beside his chair, leaning forward and dropping his upper half onto the table, his chin resting on crossed arms. Drifter had grinned at him.

“Long day?” Was all he asked. Casimir only grunted in confirmation, squinting his eyes at Drifter’s game before relaxing his face with a pained sigh.

The burns hurt a little more on the long days. They spent too long locked away behind his helmet, not allowed to breathe in the cold air of the Derelict.

Drifter set a card down, reaching towards the bottle of alcohol set on the table before them, some type of whisky. He picked up an empty glass from the table and held it up to Casimir, question in his eyes. Casimir only shrugged, and the rogue rolled his eyes and poured.

“What are you playing?” He asked Drifter, his tone flat, tired. If Drifter didn’t know him, he might’ve feared it came of as uninterested, but Drifter knew him well, knew he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to know.

“Solitaire.” Drifter answered, handing him the glass before considering the game once more and moving a card to a new place on the table. “Ever heard of it?”

Casimir shook his head as best as he could with his chin still resting his chin on his arms. He lifted it only as much as he had to to set the glass to his lips and take a sip of the drink within.

“C’mere.” Drifter told him, motioning for Casimir to join him on his side of the table. With his free hand, he reached back and drew a pair of knives from his belt, setting them atop the table beside his gun.

Casimir furrowed his brows, but didn’t move from his spot, still slumped over the table.

“I’ll make it worth your while.” Drifter promised with a grin. “C’mere. You look tired.”

Casimir eyed him for a few more moments before he sighed, sitting up before heaving himself to his feet, taking his glass in his hand and taking the few tired steps towards Drifter on the other side of the little table. Once he’d made it to him, Drifter’s hands took his hips lightly, and he guided Casimir to turn around, guiding him down to sit atop Drifter’s lap.

As soon as he was settled, his drink set safely on the table before them once more, Drifter’s hands were reaching around him, one arm, wrapped loosely around his waist, the other coming up across his torso, his hand resting atop Casimir’s sturdy chestplate, guiding him to lean back against his chest. Once Casimir had settled against him once more, his lower arm moved back to the table before him, returning to his card game.

“Want me to teach you?” Drifter asked him, speaking low in his ear, his chin resting on his shoulder.

Casimir shook his head, the movement soft from his own exhaustion, as well as his care to not hit Drifter.

“Too tired.” He murmured. “I’ll just watch.”

“Hm.” Drifter murmured. “Suit yourself.” He hummed, but he placed a gentle kiss on the back of Casimir’s head, just below his cropped hairline.

Casimir hummed in response, letting his head drop forward to bear more of his neck to the Drifter. He let his eyes close as Drifter’s lips returned to his neck, trailing down until he reached the seal at his neck that connected his armor to his helmet. Casimir heard the sound of a card being pressed onto the table, then Drifter’s hands tapped on the plates of his armor.

“Can I take this off?” The rogue asked. Casimir nodded.

Nimble fingers found the clasps to Casimir’s armor, undoing them one by one and setting them aside, until he’d been removed of his chest and back plates, pauldrons, and the plates that protected his arms. As Drifter worked, Casimir slipped off his gloves, adding them to the little pile of armor Drifter had been making on the empty chair in front of him.

Drifter’s hands ran across Casimir’s undersuit before settling on the zipper at his back.

“And this?”

Casimir hummed in confirmation.

Drifter’s hands had an air of gentleness Casimir hadn’t noticed before when he worked the zipper down. Casimir was still wearing a tight undershirt below the undersuit, but Drifter’s hands were much closer to his skin as he helped Casimir out of the upper half of the undersuit, pushing it forward so Casimir could slip his arms out of it and set it onto the pile. Casimir flinched when Drifter’s hands ran over him this time.

“Sorry.” The rogue murmured. Casimir shook his head.

“It’s alright.” He promised, leaning forward, away from Drifter to shed the last layer, slipping the undershirt up, off his body and tossing it onto the stack with a little grimace.

Drifter let out his breath, his hands moving down to hold Casimir as he looked over Casimir’s back. He knew it was covered with bruises and scrapes, some of them possibly still bleeding if the pain coming from was any indication.

“It’s getting worse.” Drifter murmured, and Casimir nodded. His Ghost had done everything she could to heal him up, but since he’d returned from the Tangled Shore, some of his injuries would allude her. He’d had the burns on his face and neck for weeks now. The wounds on his back were the most she’d ever been unable to heal, and Casimir was having a hard time _not_ worrying about it.

“I’m not sure what to do.” Casimir confessed, his head down, a hand braced on his knee. Drifter’s hand brushed his back and he tensed, reaching out and taking his drink from the table in a tense hand, swallowing a mouthful he hoped would begin to numb the pain.

“Don’t worry.” Drifter told him. “I think I’ve lived long enough to help you out.” His hands found Casimir’s hips again, and he used the grip to lift Casimir up to his feet, standing up and slipping off his chair. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

Casimir watched him go, the rogue disappearing down the hall that would lead to his little shipping container room in the back of the ship. He didn’t mention his question hadn’t been about what to do at the moment, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. He couldn’t expect Drifter had all the answers.

He was back in the room a moment later, a beat-up tin box in his hands. He set it on the table, grabbing Casimir’s empty chair and moving it behind his old chair, where Casimir was standing up from Drifter’s old chair, stepping up to the table and pulling the tin towards him, opening it up to reveal a mess of first aid supplies, all packaged well enough that Drifter must’ve stolen them at one time or another. While he looked, Drifter picked up the second chair, turning it to face away from the table. When Casimir looked back, he invited him to sit with a gesture, and Casimir obeyed, handing Drifter the tin before sitting with his back to the other man, facing the table.

Drifter was quiet while he worked, carefully cleaning each of the open wounds before bandaging them up with gentle fingers. His Ghost had been able to heal the injuries that would have needed stitches, at least to the point where they didn’t, but Drifter had to paste a butterfly stitch on a few of the larger cuts on his back.

Casimir sipped his drink while he worked, finishing off his glass and half of a second before Drifter announced he was done with a gentle kiss on his lower back. He’d dropped off his chair to his knees to work on Casimir’s lower back, and he kissed his way up Casimir’s spine as he rose to his feet.

Drifter had scooped him up from his chair, kicking it back to face the table before sitting down in it, Casimir on his lap once more. It was how he’d ended up in his current position, his drink in hand, Drifter kissing his way around bandages and across bruises.

“You’re tense.” Drifter murmured against his shoulder. “Am I hurting you?”

Casimir shook his head, setting his glass back down on the table. “No, I’m just…stressed.” He let out a sigh, standing up from Drifter’s lap and turning round to face him, finding something like worry on the man’s face.

Before it could settle in too much, he slid back onto Drifter’s lap, his legs parted around Drifter’s body, one of his hands reaching out to hold the back of his neck as he leaned in to kiss him. The contact between them was gentle, and Drifter let him set the pace, following Casimir’s movements as he kissed him long and slow.

Still, it was over too quickly even as Casimir leaned into Drifter’s chest, his eyes growing heavy.

“I’m tired.” He murmured.

Drifter hummed in response, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “You look it.” He murmured back, “Want to go to bed?”

Casimir nodded against his chest, but when he didn’t get off after a few moments, Drifter laughed lightly.

“Alright. Don’t get used to this.” Casimir had to hide his smile as Drifter wrapped his arms around him and stood from the chair, a considerable feat given Casimir was a titan, still wearing half of his bulky armor. Sometimes it was heavy to even carry on his own, but Drifter showed no hinderance of his movements as he held Casimir in his arms.

He was sure to savor it when Drifter carried him to his little room, and when Drifter stripped them both of their remaining armor and crawled into bed with him, drawing him securely into his arms. Casimir drifted off wrapped in the other man’s warmth, savoring the peace around him, regardless of his unhealed wounds.


End file.
